


Lack of Inspiration

by Cheeseslicer



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Barista Ian, Coffee Shop, M/M, Mickey writes smut..., Oral sex happened sort of, POV Mickey, Writer Mickey, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeseslicer/pseuds/Cheeseslicer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey is a writer and is lacking inspiration. In comes a red headed barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lack of Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> So I was lacking in inspiration and I just gave this to Mickey, and then this happened. First time I have ever attempted smut, really sorry about that. And sorry for any spelling mistakes, English is not my first language.

Nothing. Zero. Empty. Blank. Nil. None.

These were all words Mickey could use to describe his current lack of inspiration. Like there was not a fucking thing up top, except for like noisy as hell crickets.

He just got lucky, they said. He cannot really have written that. He does not look like a writer. Right now, all the imbecile critics seemed to be right. No way he could have written a best selling novel, he was from the South Side for crying out loud. He started out as a nothing and would end up a nothing.

Because right now that was what his head was filled with. NOTHING! He needed to start his second novel, or he needed to start a good second novel. He had started several ones, but they were all shit. He could not publish some half-ass story, it needed to be good. It had to be better than what he had written last time. He needed true inspiration, something written from experience. That was what he had used last time. Writing about his life, just minimizing the amount of deaths and drugs, and changing a few crucial facts about himself and his family.

He had used an alias last time. To protect himself, and Mandy. His sister would get burned for this shit as well. Truth be told, when Mickey had been writing this he never imagined that it could end up actually helping him. He thought it had only been some stupid thing to do to get time to pass. Surprisingly enough it had been his ticket out, and for that he was forever greatful.

"Excuse me, but do you want a refill?" A voice said from somewhere above Mickey's head.

"Hmm? Uh, yeah." Mickey replied while shoving his mug forward. This was reciprocated by the warm, dark liquid poured into the mug.

"Anything particularly good or interesting?" The voice followed up the act with.

"Huh?" Was all Mickey managed.

"You have a word document open, with a minimal amount of words if I may say so. You writing anything interesting? Like, are you a writer?" Mickey frowned at this and looked up at the coffee guy. Shit, he was good looking. "Just making conversation man. Sorry, didn't mean to offend you."

The guy had lifted his rather muscular arms up in defence. He must have taken Mickey's shock of the hotness of the guy as anger or annoyance. This often happened, Mickey's face was good at portraying any feeling as anger. It was a habit learned a long time ago, and it would not go away.

"No man. Not annoyed." Mickey said, sounding annoyed. He lifted his hand, trailing it down his face. "I am trying to write a novel."

Mickey expected laughter. Or some sort of confusion. People never pegged him for a writer and they always got surprised to hear it. Might have something to do with his fuck u-up tattoos, or his shit attitude. Honestly, he didn't really care. No laughter was forthcoming though. The guy just smiled, a genuine smile. One of those that can make puppies and kittens melt.

"That's cool man. What is it about?"

"Sort of lacking in the inspiration department at the moment, so nothing. And your ginger-ass disturbing me is not helping." There it was again, the anger.

"Mmh. So you want me to leave then?"

The guy leaned on the table, and if Mickey didn't know better he would have said the guy was flexing his muscles. Did this guy want a beat down or something? Too much frustration was built up inside if Mickey to read people right now. He should never have left the secure surroundings of his apartment.

"Yeah. Go do _your_ job, and I'll do _mine_." With that Mickey thought the conversation was over and he put all his concentration into the almost blank page in front of him.

"Maybe I can help you?" The hopeful puppy-dog look on the guys face was sappy, Mickey told himself.

"Nah better off alone. Go and make some coffee." Mickey waved the guy away.

"How much have you written so far? On your own?" The guy left a small pause before he continued, clearly stating the question was not to be answered. "Nothing! I therefore advice you to take the help I am now so generously offering you. You can even take all the credit for the finished product, that won't be a problem. Just like dedicate the book to me or some shit like that and we're cool man."

"I am not going to repeat myself again. Take your ass and walk away man. I do not want your help, I am doing this alone. Just go and make some fancy-ass coffee to some rich girl so she can post the picture on Instagram." Mickey strained his voice, trying to keep it calm. It didn't really work and every word was soaked with irritation.

"Okay dude, I'll leave you alone. If you want more coffee just tell me though." The guy left with a smirk on his face. Asshole.

Mickey lifted a hand in a half wave, not removing his eyes from the laptop. There was nothing new there and no new ideas were fourth coming.

Mickey looked up as the guy walked away. His jeans was tight around his bum, showing it off. His uniform was just a dark t-shirt, but he had gone for one of the smaller sizes. It showed of his muscular body, and it really was a good looking one. But Mickey was working right now and it was time for him to keep it in his pants. 

 

***

 

After an hour of nothing, he could not help himself. He snapped his fingers together, lifting his hand up at the same time. The coffee can quickly found it's way over to the table. And it did not stay there for long.

"Follow me." He said, while he got up from his seat in the corner. He was confident enough in himself not to look back for his entourage.

He lead them both to the toilet, the handicap one. It was big and not attached to the others. It gave a significant better feeling with the added privacy and security.

"Lets be quick about it, yeah? I got things to do." He said while unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down.

The red head squatted down without any protest. Hands reached up for is boxers, willing them to come off, and so they did. His dick got a few good pumps before it was engulfed by a pair of wet lips.

Pleasure filled his entire body, starting in the lower abdomen region and pulsating out to every corner of his body. The stress and pressure shrunk as his heart beat increased. This was exactly what he needed to get through today.

He looked down at the red hair that worked up and down his shaft. He bit his lip as he realised that he needed more speed, he needed it harder and rougher. He was never going to word this request, instead he put is hands in the ocean of hair. He started to slowly massage and lightly push at the barista's head, willing the speed to increase. Despite not opening his mouth his command was followed.

Euphoria. Only word that could describe it. That was exactly what he felt, as he was edging closer to his climax. Tilting his head backward and closing his eyes. He kept his hands in the red hair, it felt good keeping them there. His ears were filled with heaving breathing, which came from his own mouth.

 

***

 

"And you said you didn't need my help?"

Mickey jumped in his seat as he heard the voice coming from behind.

"Eh, what?" He tried to straighten himself up, squinting at what had taken the place of the blank Word page.

"The red headed barista you're writing about, don't tell me it's not me. Is this some weird way of asking me if I want to blow you in the toilet?" The question was followed up with a small and light laugh.

Mickey could feel is face going red, his neck too. This was some grade four fucked up shit he had gotten himself into. He quickly scanned the screen again. There was basically a whole page where some guy in a coffee shop got blown by a barista. A red headed barista. Mickey had just made a fifty shades of grey story about the guy who served him coffee. Holly fuck. He was just missing some sort of whip and restraints and there you go. Fifty shades of coffee, or some shit like that.

"It never says whether it's a guy or a chick." Ha! Mickey found a loophole. Him having written such a vague description of the blower had be beneficial. Because there was no doubt in Mickey's mind that the inspiration behind this little story was the barista, currently breathing down his neck, but he would be damned be for he admitted that.

"So you're straight then?" The disappointment in the guy's voice made Mickey feel good. He was not alone in sexual tension town.

"Man, I ain't telling you anything."

"Ha! You are so into me." The guy stepped around Mickey's chair, a smug as hell face came into view.

"Keep telling yourself that." Mickey could take this proposition or whatever the fuck the guy was doing, but fuck. He could not sleep with the guy he had just written basically a porno about, that shit would not work.

"My shift ends in half an hour. And here is my number if you are too busy to wait for me. I'm Ian, by the way." The guy, apparently named Ian, took a napkin and started to write on it.

"Dude, stop with the cockyness. Not everybody wants a piece of your flamboyant ass." The grumpy man act was a safe card for Mickey to play.

"Shut up, you love it. Now, what's your name? Because cutewriter guy is not going to work well screaming out loud in bed." Another cheeky grin came flying Mickey's way.

"What the fuck man?" Mickey furrowed his brows shocked by the sheer amount of confidence this guy had. It was fucking hot.

"I don't know about you, or maybe I do based on your little story there. But I like to know the person I am fucking before it happens, or at least know their name. I know, I ask for a lot." Ian's smile looked like it was about to split his face in half. It looked innocent, endearing, lustful and playful, all at the same time. Mickey could feel himself caving, he would not be able to resist this Ian's charm. Man, when was he ever going to grow some balls.

"Mickey." And just like that he got up closed his laptop and took the napkin. "And I'm not cute."

That made Ian laugh, and Mickey liked that laugh. It filled him up as he left it behind at the back of the coffee shop. He intended to come back here, in exactly half an hour. This would not be happening in the toilet though. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Appreciate it! Leave what ever you want down there, all feedback is good feedback.


End file.
